


She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not

by IrisofParadise



Category: Black Widow (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, F/F, Minor Character Death, Soviet Spouses 2.0
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 03:06:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7249564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisofParadise/pseuds/IrisofParadise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She begins to wonder who the flowers are for. Someone special that much she is certain.</p>
<p>Forget-me-nots for remembrance. So for someone that she wanted to remember her maybe?</p>
<p>Pink camellia for longing. Obviously for someone she missed greatly then.</p>
<p>A yellow rose for a strong bond. Someone that she was very close to.</p>
<p>Yes. Someone special. Someone far away maybe. Someone not her. And she jolts at the thought. Because why would she want flowers from Natasha, she thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not

**Author's Note:**

> My bestie and I have dubbed this ship as 'Soviet Spouses 2.0' and it has quickly become one of our fave ships. So I really just wanted to attempt a flower shop au and fluff for them.   
> Alexei (Alex) Romanov (Romanoff) is Natasha's younger brother from the book 'Forever Red' by Margaret Stohl and he is mentioned near the end so mild character death.   
> As for how I described Nat, I was thinking more from Earth's Mightiest Heroes. I always headcanon that Natasha is around 5'8" and Yelena is about 5'4". Because height differences. I also always headcanon that Natasha is the biggest fucking dork to ever be. So enjoy the brief mention of her in heelies.

It’s like clockwork. Yelena’s week that is. Though, it does take some time for it to get to that point. 

The same types of people come into her small flower shop. Men and women alike coming to get flowers for their significant other. People asking what flowers to bring to a funeral every so often. Not many of these people know the meanings behind the flowers they buy, aside from red roses, and it’s very rare that someone does.

But the part of Yelena’s week that she looks forward to the most, though she will never admit to it, is Thursday morning bright and early a woman only a handful of years older than herself comes in not too long after Yelena unlocks the door with her coffee in hand.

The first few times had been more of a bother than anything for Yelena. An annoying discomfort. She’d felt as though she couldn’t get work done with a customer looking around. 

By the second month when it became quite obvious that the redhead knows what it is she wants, Yelena felt that it was just too early to be assembling flower arrangements.

The third month that the redhead came in right on time Yelena learned her name. It was also their first real conversation outside of their quiet mutters of ‘good morning’ and ‘goodbye’.

“Спасибо  _ (Spasiba/Thank you) _ ,” the redhead has said with a small smile at the arrangement of blue forget-me-nots, pink camellia, and the bright yellow rose. 

She’d said it in Russian and it had made Yelena stop short in mild surprise. Surprise that she hurriedly shoves away in favor of a small head nod and a simple, “пожалуйста  _ (Pozhaluista/You’re welcome _ ).” 

“Natasha,” the redhead introduces herself as she accepts the flowers. 

It takes Yelena a moment but slowly she nods. “Yelena.”

And as Natasha gives her a warm smile and leaves, Yelena continues running the name over in her mind.

_ ‘Natasha. Natalia. Natasha. Natalia. Natasha.’ _

She finds she rather likes the name.

The fourth month Yelena bumped into Natasha on her way to work and in her still sleepy daze had let the hot coffee slip from her hold. She didn’t even look at the person she’d bumped into, just cursed in a mix of Russian, English, and French as she storms away. She’s in the backroom, dabbing away at her coffee coated jeans when she hears the bell ding. A mutter under breath about the day already going to shit and she rushes to assemble the arrangement, not even sparing Natasha a glance.

And she doesn’t realize that Natasha has brought a replacement coffee until the taller woman has already left and Yelena is taking a sip of a vanilla flavored latté. It’s only then that she realizes that Natasha had had some coffee staining the hem of her shirt. 

She begins to wonder who the flowers are for. Someone special that much she is certain.

Forget-me-nots for remembrance. So for someone that she wanted to remember her maybe?

Pink camellia for longing. Obviously for someone she missed greatly then.

A yellow rose for a strong bond. Someone that she was very close to.

Yes. Someone special. Someone far away maybe. Someone not her. And she jolts at the thought. Because  _ why would she want flowers from Natasha,  _ Yelena thinks, idly taking a sip from the replacement coffee.

But the next three Thursdays Yelena finds herself paying more attention to Natasha. 

She has just the barest hint of a Russian accent, mostly lost from her time in New York. Her hair has just the tiniest of a wave to it towards the end. And her eyes are such a bright, piercing green.

One day she even manages to talk to her as she assembles the bouquet.

“Whoever the flowers are for is very lucky to have you,” she says as, maneuvering and setting the forget-me-nots around the yellow rose until they’re to her liking. “How long have you been apart?” She finds the words slipping from her. She hopes that she hasn’t gone too far by asking about Natasha’s personal life as she notices the redhead tensing.

But Natasha just shakes her head sadly. “Almost two years now.” A pause and then almost as an afterthought, “I miss him dearly.”

Yelena just nods and turns back to the task at hand. When Natasha leaves Yelena sighs softly, thinking to herself,  _ ‘Of course they’re for someone. I knew this. I shouldn’t have asked.’ _ And she half expects for Natasha to not come by anymore. 

But she does. 

Every week.

For months. 

And they talk even more, though not very much as Yelena finds herself not the best at keeping a conversation going if she’s honest. 

Yelena quickly finds out that Natasha is a nerd. A nerd who wears heelies and tells terrible jokes. But Yelena can’t stop the small giggle that escapes her when Natasha asks completely serious, “Are you from Moscow? Because you have been Russian through my mind lately.”

Quickly Yelena slaps a hand over her mouth to hide her amusement before she is very slowly shaking her head. “Kiev actually.” 

Natasha lets out a surprised hum in thought. “Volgograd.”

They fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence, Natasha watching as Yelena fixed the bouquet together. Before she leaves she says, “У тебя очень' красивая улыбка. _ ( _ _ U tebya ochen' krasivaya ulybka/You have a very beautiful smile _ ),” and Yelena finds herself flushing slightly at the compliment.

Two weeks later and Natasha never enters the small shop. Yelena refuses to admit that is worried but she is. Even more so when it begins to rain when she leaves for lunch and sees bright red hair in a cemetery. 

Curiously she moves closer and is able to see that the women is speaking. She wonders if she should turn around and pretend she never saw anything. Ultimately she walks over to stand just a few feet behind Natasha and waits, the sound of the rain making her unable to hear what exactly it is that Natasha is saying to the grave. 

When Natasha turns around she doesn’t seem surprised really to see Yelena. Instead she raises an eyebrow after a few moments of silence and says, “He was my little brother. His name is Alex.”

“Alexei? Or Alexander?” Yelena asks, nose wrinkling at the American nickname. 

Natasha nods. “Alexei. He was an annoyance. But I miss him.”

Yelena nods in understanding. She doesn’t like the way Natasha sounds and looks, sad and almost devoid of emotion. “Would you like to get coffee?”

The redhead gives a small nod. “I’m always up for tsarbucks.” It’s said completely seriously.

A moment where all that is heard is the rain. 

And then, “I change my mind. Offer is off the table,” as Yelena turns to walk away, rolling her eyes. Natasha just laughs softly and follows after her. 

And continues coming by the flower shop every Thursday for flowers. And if she comes by more often just to see Yelena, well, Yelena isn’t going to tell her to leave. 


End file.
